


A Second Proposal

by Pixiestick_cc



Series: If You're Lonely Press Play Universe [4]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Deleted Scenes, Engagement, F/M, Family, Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiestick_cc/pseuds/Pixiestick_cc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wirt was still too anxious to ask for her hand the proper way, like it was on her side of the wall, and Beatrice was growing tired of keeping it a secret. They had already announced their engagement to his parents and Greg, but Wirt kept stalling when it came to her family. (IYLPP Universe)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Second Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> A Drabble Prompt from Whiggity for 'Things you said at the Kitchen Table' that turned into much more. Takes place three weeks after 'Bases' ends

The rectangle kitchen table was old, small, and not used in the typical way. Beatrice’s mother had set it up long ago to be more of a counter, put there for others to gather round while she was preparing meals. Sometimes the table was used for conversations, but more often, it became a way to force her children into cooking. There were no rules in her house about propriety for women in regards to meal preparation. All members of their large household had to learn the skill in some respect regardless of gender. That way if she was in a pinch and one of her eight children was nearby, they couldn’t use the excuse, “I don’t know how.” If you lived under her roof you knew at least the basics.

Over the years, the kitchen table had also been a place for Beatrice to share secrets with her motherlike the day she became a woman, her admittance that she was the one who had caused the curse (although, most had already assumed this before she developed the nerve to say it out loud), and occasionally, her feelings concerning Wirt were mentioned. Her mother didn’t want to know everything, and Beatrice wouldn’t divulge the more intimate details, but sometimes, a situation would present itself that was too difficult to resolve on her own. That was when she would ask for her mother’s advice.

One such mother/daughter moment happened three weeks after Wirt’s proposal. He was still too anxious to ask for her hand the proper waylike it was on her side of the walland Beatrice was growing tired of keeping it a secret. They had already announced their engagement to his parents and Greg, but Wirt kept stalling when it came to her family.

To suppress her growing impatience, Beatrice reminded herself that his reluctance was inconsequential, because he was Wirtsomeone who was prone to bouts of nervousness. Like always, he would eventually come around. She wasn’t worried that he would go back on his proposal either. He had been the instigator after all, while she was the voice of concernnot wanting him to jump blindly into giving up everything for her. But it didn't matter to him. Wirt was in love and in his hopeless romantic mind, loved conquered all. Plainly put, he was a sap. But … he was _her_ sap.

And besides, the Beatrice she presented to the world didn’t care about mundane things like being engaged. What a bore. It was just a promise of another promise. The intention to marry was not actually as celebratory as being married. And weddings were awful anywayor so she tried to convince herself. 

But that other Beatricethe one she shoved into a dark closet on most daysstarted to crawl around inside her brain, whispering that her courtship had lasted long enough. 

_You should be able to show off your engagement ... especially to all those naysayers in the nearby village who dared to call you spinster._

Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to force Wirt’s hand, and leaning her elbows on the kitchen table one Friday evening before leaving to meet Wirt, Beatrice asked for her mother's for help. “What is it?” her mother said, not looking up from the onion she was peeling, but sensing Beatrice’s presence.

“How did you make father propose?”

“I did no such thing. Make him? How preposterous,” her mother replied, indignant. “It was all him. Hopeless romantic fool.” Beatrice didn’t respond. Sometimes she was far too much like her mother and had to force herself not to recoil from the realization. “Why? Are you trying to make someone propose to you?” the older woman asked, ceasing her vegetable peeling to fix her daughter with a curious gaze.

“No.” Beatrice didn’t insomuch as lie as she omitted the truth. She was already engaged.

“Then why the question?” Her mother shifted the onion she had finished peeling across the table, along with a knife. Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “If you want my advice then you will have to participate.”

She grumbled some nonsensical words and began to chop, while her mother indicated with a look that she was waiting for Beatrice to explain her earlier question. “Well, I think Wirt is too afraid of you, father, and everyone else to ask. I know he wants to, but-SHIT!” Her eyes shot down to see the knife had dug into one of her fingers.

“Honestly, Beatrice. What a word to use. Perhaps it is your filthy mouth that keeps Wirt from proposing,” her mother sighed and handed her daughter a rag to stop the bleeding. “And what is this nonsense about Wirt being afraid? What is there to be afraid of?” Beatrice stared down at the tiny pool of blood on the table, but looked up again when she heard fear enter her mother’s voice. “Is he wanting to take you away from hereto live with him?”

Beatrice shook her head. “No, it isn’t that. But you know Wirt. He’s quiet and shy, while everyone else here can be, er …” she searched for a nice way to put her family’s antics, “the opposite. I think it stops him from asking for my hand.”

“Well, you can’t force the boy.” Beatrice’s mother was quiet for a moment as she placed her diced onions into a pot, then turning back to the kitchen table, her blue eyes lit up with an idea. “But I will do my best to keep your brothers and sisters in line. And you know your father, he’s harmless. Wirt has nothing to worry about.”

Beatrice nodded, wondering if perhaps it might have been better to leave the rest of her family out of it. “Please, don’t do anything … out of the ordinary, okay?” she asked, feeling a wariness creep into her bones.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” her mother repeated with a look that hinted she might not be speaking the truth.

* * *

 

Wirt was already waiting at the wall by the time Beatrice arrived. She couldn’t help that it was her lot in life to be perpetually late for most everything, but usually she was prompt when greeting Wirt as it was one of the few things in her life worth looking forward to. "Sorry," she said rushing up to him. "There was a little hiccup at home."

"Is everything okay?” he asked as they began heading back in the direction Beatrice had just come from.

“It's fine now,” she mumbled, fidgeting with the skirt of her lilac dress, but when Wirt slid his fingers into her grasp, she hissed and pulled away.

“What did you do to your finger?” he asked, noticing the cut she had neglected to wrap.

“That was the hiccup. Mother was forcing me chop an onion. I suppose she’ll learn now that I’m not the best when it comes to helping in the kitchen.”

“But that’s not true," Wirt disputed. "I’ve seen you cook with my mom lots of times. You don’t like it, but you’re not bad."

“What’s your point?”

A grin tugged at his lips. “I think it’s more likely that you were preoccupied with something and got clumsy. Maybe you were thinking about me and you and barn lofts and hay. Stuff like that.” He chuckled at what was obviously an innuendo to their lovemaking, but Beatrice scowled. Of course he would bring that up and not the proposal that happened afterward.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she responded with a huff, and examined her finger again to ignore his stare.

Wirt sighed and stopped walking. “Okay, well, at least let me fix that for you.” Not waiting for her to say yes, he pulled gauze from his backpack, and began to wind it around her finger. “Guess you’re lucky you didn’t want an engagement ring,” Wirt commented as he worked.

“What do you mean by that?” Her tone was more forceful than she intended, and it caused him to look up.

“N-nothing, just that you injured the ring finger on your left hand. That’s where the ring would have been.”

"Oh," she replied. Beatrice didn’t like jewelry and hadn’t felt the need to wear any just because she was engaged. It didn’t seem to be that significant of a sacrifice to make. She remembered the disappointment in his face after her refusal to ring shop with him, but Beatrice hadn't let it sway her. Now she wondered if maybe this decision was coming back to haunt her. No ring, no proof.

Wirt finished tending to her finger by taping the gauze in place and the two continued walking, making small talkBeatrice asking about Sara and Wirt mentioning something silly Greg had done that morning. Not once was their engagement brought up. When they finally entered her home, Beatrice felt her dread from earlier return. The house was eerily silent, and Wirt must have noticed too because he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. “I don’t know why it’s so quiet,” she answered his unspoken question.

For a second, she thought perhaps something unfortunate had happened. The last time an unnerving quiet had fallen over the house, George had died. But then Wirt took her hands in his, and for a moment she forgot. “Look, I’m sorry ifthat is, I was only joking earlier. I don’t want to ruin our weekend just because I started it with a lame joke about you and me ... well, you know. I-I don't know why I even said it. Guess maybe that's all _I've_ been thinking about and I'm projecting.” He looked away embarrassed, but Beatrice used her good hand to guide his face back towards her. A flustered Wirt would always be her weakness and she felt her irritation from earlier melt away.

“Completely understandable considering how good I was,” she whispered with a giggle. It wasn’t one of her better quips, but Wirt laughed anyway. He usually did. Then they both leaned in for a kiss, but stopped just short of each other's lips when an annoyed voice from the other room startled them.

“Are you two going to stand in the entryway for much longer? I’m hungry!” It was Andrew, and that was when Beatrice had her answer to the silent house mystery. Her family was fine. They were just at the dining table already, an odd occurrence considering it usually took ages for her mother to round everyone up. Plus, it was  _never_  quiet when all ten members of her family were sitting down to eat. Beatrice tried not to dwell on it though, ignoring the echo inside her head of her mother saying,  _nothing out of the ordinary_.

“Shut up, you idiot!” she shouted back to her brother, making up for what he had ruined by giving Wirt a short, but intense kiss. It had been to spite Andrew, but he couldn’t see, so it ended up being for her. When she relinquished his lips, Wirt had a faint blush on his cheeks from her surprise attack, and the sight of his heightened color gave her a sense of satisfaction. She hoped this part of him never went away.

Tugging on his hand, Beatrice led Wirt into the dining area, and held back a gasp at the sight that greeted them. Andrew, Esther, Alexander, Lydia, Benjamin, Oliver, Henry, and her parents, all sat at what appeared to be an elegantly put together display for a very common dinnerrabbit stew. It felt like a holiday, but without all the extra food. The best flatware was in use, along with the finest dishesthe ones her mother reserved for important guests. “Andrew, apologize to Beatrice and Wirt for being so rude,” her mother said after they came into view.

Andrew frowned, but taking in his mother’s chastising expression, sobered up and did as she asked. Wirt accepted the apology, while Beatrice responded with a sneer, then they sat beside each other in the only two empty chairs at the table. She could tell by the look Wirt shot her that he sensed something strange was going on. She shrugged her shoulders, pretending not to know. And really she couldn’t be sure why everyone was acting so odd, but she did have a pretty good guess. All signs pointed to her mother having something to do with the changed atmosphere. It was never this quiet. You couldn’t gather together such a large family at a dinner table without some conflict spilling over into the meal. 

But if this was true, and it was under her mother’s authority that everyone had transformed into serene versions of themselves, then ultimately it meant Beatrice was at fault. She was the one who had opened her big mouth at the kitchen table. Her mother was trying to coerce Wirt into asking for her daughter’s hand, but doing it in such an obvious way, that he would figure it out. Someone would slip and say the wrong thing when Wirt finally developed the nerve to ask why everyone was being so unusual.

Beatrice didn’t think she could handle the embarrassment, and decided the only way to combat the air of peacefulness her family exuded, was to make their meal as insane as possible. In other words, she would force them to act normal.

But as dinner progressed and Beatrice began to subtlety pick fights, she received only blank stares or politeness in response. Andrew was the only one who gave her even the slightest form of an angry reaction after she threw a dinner roll in his direction. He glared, until Beatrice was softly scolded by her mother, which altered his angry expression into a satisfied one. Even her mother was holding back. At any other time, Beatrice resorting to food throwing would have resulted in her being sent to her room. But still playing a sedated form of herself, Beatrice’s mother made an attempt at civility and smiled through her scold.

After that, Beatrice could hardly stand it anymore and wanted to call out her whole family on their bizarre charade, that by the looks of it, Wirt was growing uncomfortable with too. She would have thrown every roll at Andrew if she thought it would have made a difference. But it wouldn't. Her mother must have promised everyone something truly wonderful for them to keep quiet as long as they did.

To add insult to injury, Beatrice knew the whole dinner debacle could have been avoided if she had only let Wirt know how much their engagement meant to herthat she wanted to tell her family about them. Instead, her pride had edged forward. The inability to tell Wirt how much she cared about him was regrettable, and Beatrice wished she could just outright say how she felt at times. Of all the qualities she brought to their relationship, it was the simpler characteristicslike showing lovethat Beatrice struggled with. She could be brave, facing most any threat ... except the threat of emotional vulnerability. It was a stupid flaw and she wouldn’t let it get in the way anymore. At least not tonight. Standing, with her chin stubbornly set, Beatrice turned to Wirt, took his hand (causing him to drop his spoon in his stew) and asked, “Will you marry me?”

The question fixed their problem. He wouldn't have to face her father to ask for her hand, and she was pushing past her shortcomings in expressing love. What showed more love than a wedding proposal in front of her whole familya family that would hopefully return to normal once Wirt accepted. 

 _If_ he accepted. She hadn't thought he might hesitate, but Wirt didn't reply right away. Instead he stared at her, shocked at the abruptness of her proposal. But that soon faded and she saw amusement light up his brown eyes as he recognized what she was doing. His lips then turned upward into a grin that she hoped was leading to a response. But Wirt continued to keep quiet. Clearly he was enjoying keeping her in anticipation. Pulling in a deep breath, Beatrice felt suspended in air, then she let it pour out of her in the form of an annoyed sigh. “Will you just answer the damn question?” she finally grumbled through gritted teeth in what was a nod back to Wirt's own irritation for her failing to answer his proposal right away. This apparently was payback for her dithering.

Wirt chuckled, and rose to her level. “Well, how could I refuse when you’ve worded your proposal so articulately?”

“Idiot,” she mumbled into the soft kiss that followed.

Some members of her family clapped, while others groaned at the kiss. But it was Henry who pulled everyone’s attention away from Wirt and Beatrice's public display of affection, by saying, “Good. They’re engaged now. Can we stop pretending to be so polite?”

* * *

 

The next morning, Beatrice woke early, wanting to have a moment alone with her mother before any of her brothers and sisters could intrude. She found her in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, and leaning against the kitchen table, Beatrice asked, “So, how did you do it?”

“Do what?” her mother replied sounding bored as she cracked an egg open and let the inside fall into a bowl.

“Oh, don’t pretend. You know what I’m talking about.”

Her mother glanced up, then slid a few eggs, along with the bowl she had been using, towards Beatrice, who guessing what it meant, rolled her eyes.  Sure enough, once her hands were busy working, she finally got an answer. “Honestly, Beatrice is it so difficult to believe that your family wants you to be happy? They all needed very little prodding, only Andrew really, but that was expected considering the rivalry you two engage in almost daily.”

“I don’t believe you. There had to be some promise you made to get them to behave,” Beatrice scoffed, but her mother shook her head.

“Deep down even someone as brash as you can find love, maybe even because of it. I see the way Wirt looks at you when you stand up to others. It’s admiration. So, is it that difficult to think your family feels the same?” Recognizing she wasn’t going to get any truthful answers, Beatrice finished cracking the eggs and left the kitchen table.  

While heading back to her room, she ran into her youngest brother in the hallway and asked, "How is he?" Beatrice meant Wirt, who no longer slept in the barn, but shared a room with Henry.

"Your fiance talks in his sleep, you know," he complained, and then added, "Sometimes it's even poetry." Henry shuddered and Beatrice laughed, a reaction her brother appeared proud of being able to pull from her. "Do you think I can kick him back into the barn?"

Beatrice shook her head. “He won't be your problem for much longer. We'll move out soon enough."

“Yeah, I guess," Henry agreed and after a short pause, asked, "So, how does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“Being engaged to that nerd.” Henry snickered. He wasn’t being cruel. He actually liked Wirt, but like Beatrice, had a hard time admitting it.

“It feels the same, like every other day.”

“Don’t tell me we did all that work only to have you not care that you’re engaged,” he sighed, but the annoyance in his expression lasted only briefly. “Guess it doesn’t matter anyway, since  _you_  proposed to  _him_. Weirdo.”

Henry moved past Beatrice, continuing down the hall, but remembering her mother’s words, she grasped his shoulder. “Hey, um, I knowthat is … thank you, for at least trying last night to make Wirt propose.”

Henry glanced over his shoulder, raising them up and down, expressing indifference. “Eh, I’m just glad you got what you wanted, even if it is someone like Wirt.”

Beatrice smiled at her brother’s backhanded compliment. “Well, I appreciate it all the same,” she replied, letting the hand resting on his shoulder fall down to her side.

“Yeah, well, congratulations and all that,” he mumbled, then walked away.


End file.
